


Bruises

by thenakednymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Set Around Season 1, Yeah probably - Freeform, klance, physical manifestation of emotional insecurities that were never touched on in canon?, why do I keep beating the shit out of Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: Lance is cornered by a Galra, cut off from the rest of his team. When he hears their disparaging comments, instead of asking for help when he can, he hides how hurt he is. He doesn't want them to think he's anymore useless than he already is.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Where is Lance?”_ Pidge raps at their helmet, the sound echoing through the comm link. _“We were supposed to be out of here three doboshes ago so where the hell is he?”_

_“Slacking off probably.”_

_“Keith,”_ Shiro’s voice scolds, cutting sharply through the comms in warning. 

Lance can hear their voices distantly, tinny and strange and too far away. His helmet is lying on the floor just out of reach. 

He scrabbles at the hand around his throat, pinning him to the wall, trying to catch enough breath to shout. The Galra drives their fist into his stomach again and again. If he could he would scream. As it is it’s all he can do not to choke on his own vomit. 

The Galra does it again, knocking what breath Lance has from him and throwing him to the ground. His armor clangs as he hits the floor, limbs tangling in all the wrong directions. 

 _“He always does this,”_ Keith is saying as Lance reaches for his helmet, choking for breath, for help. _“Why can’t he take anything seriously?”_

Lance’s desperation, his fight for help dies in that moment and his eyes sting. Keith’s words hurt more than the throbbing in his stomach, the burning in his throat. 

His hand goes limp just as a boot comes down across his lower back, straight into his spine. 

This time Lance does scream. His comm is muted and no one is around to hear him, the sound breaking across the walls like the surf back home. 

The Galra does it again and Lance sees stars, the heavy impacts coming down on his kidneys and stealing his voice again, tears streaming down his face. 

He struggles to get up, to move away and a solid kick collides with his side, throwing him across the hall and away from his helmet. 

Lance’s vision blurs and he reaches for his bayard at the other end of the hall but like his helmet, it’s too far away. 

 _Come on_ , _please,_ Lance thinks, blinking through the tears but the bayard doesn’t move. He struggles to crawl, dragging up the faces of his family, trying to find the will to fight for something. 

The Galra walks up behind him, heavy boots clacking against the floor. He leans down and wraps thick fingers around Lance’s throat again, dragging him up like he weighs no more than a doll. 

In that moment Lance knows he’s going to die. He’s alone with no backup, no one to come to his aid, no one who wants to; just himself and that’s never been enough.

 He reaches desperately for the bayard mere feet away on a hope and a prayer, his eyes burning as tears stream down his face. 

The Galra tilts Lance’s head side to side, studying him with gleaming eyes. He presses closer, as if to watch the light fade from Lance’s own eyes. 

“Any last words?” he growls. 

Lance gives a great mental heave of desperation, one last spark, all he has left to give, and the bayard flashes into his hand. It’s solid and heavy, the compact pistol he’s been working to manifest pressed right to the Galra’s heart. Something mean and vicious surges up through him tasting like blood between his teeth. 

“Vrepit...sa,” Lance chokes. He squeezes the trigger and doesn’t stop. 

The soldier's eyes go wide as noise explodes in the hall, his fingers going slack as the shots tear through him. Lance hits the floor as the soldier stumbles back, gasping for breath. He gurgles and Lance looks up just in time to see organs slip down to fill the freshly made cavity in his chest. A moment later his body is hitting the floor, viscera splattering out across the ground. 

Lance turns away and gags, struggling to breathe and not be violently sick through the mess of hysteria, gore, and throbbing pain. 

He crawls to his helmet, every part of his torso bright with pain. He doesn’t know if he’s broken a rib or not but there’s definitely some deep internal bruising. Something pulls sharp and painful and _wrong_ inside him. 

He lets out a wretched sob, tangled and awful, black icor-like emotion spilling out of him to join the dead body on the floor. 

Lance lets himself cry until he’s sick for exactly three minutes. 

 _“Where is he_?” Pidge demands, voice snappish through the helmet Lance is lying next to. He can practically hear them tapping their foot in irritation. 

He swallows thickly, wiping at his face and gathering what little of his dignity remains. He drags the helmet on over his head, making sure his voice and breathing are steady before he activates the comm. 

“Hey guys, sorry about that.” He forces as much levity into his voice as possible. “Wandered a little lower than I thought. Must have taken a wrong turn, got a little lost. I think communications get a screwy down here or something.” 

He can practically hear Pidge roll their eyes. “ _I’m sending a ping to your map, it should direct you back to us,”_ they say dryly, clearly irritated by Lance’s incompetence. 

Lance hears the little notification go off but can’t see it as he struggles to sit up against the wall, fighting back a noise of pain as he does. His bayard shifts into a sniper rifle and he uses it as a crutch as he tries to stand. 

“Got it. I’m on my way.” He mutes the comm from his side before he can let out a pained whine just as Keith’s voice comes in. 

“ _Well hurry up. We don’t have all day to wait on you.”_

Lance grinds his teeth and forces himself to his stand, resisting the urge to haul the helmet off and throw it across the hall; but only just. He makes his way slowly back to the others, stowing his bayard and straightening his shoulders just outside the door, pretending everything's just fine before swaggering into the room. Just like he always does. 


	2. Chapter 2

Lance doesn’t tell anyone about what happened or the rainbow of bruises he’s now sporting. Like a patchwork corset of their paladin colors from his hips to his ribs. 

He dons his shirt and coat, covers the ring of bruises on his throat with Altean concealer, the product adjusting and adapting seamlessly to his skin tone, and pretends everything is fine. 

~

Combat training is when it all goes to shit. Lance can fake it and pretend all damn day but moving is hard and he’s been doing his best to avoid it all costs. It’s gotten him a frustrated comment or two about being lazy but he brushes them off, too hurt to stand up only to make a point. 

Everything sends a jolt of pain through him and his reactions are slow and stiff, as minimal effort as possible. He makes it through relatively unscathed, other than his obliterated pride, until the last ten dobashes when he’s paired up with Keith. He’s growing increasingly more frustrated with Lance and Lance, true to form, only eggs him on. 

“Were you always this terrible?” Keith snaps as Lance stumbles clumsily sideways. Pain shocks up through his side when he puts his foot down too hard. 

“Nah, you’re just special,” Lance pants, already exhausted.

Keith glowers and Lance is buried under a flurry of attacks, most of them landing on his arms as he tries to protect his face. Then Keith drives his fist straight into Lance’s stomach and Lance’s world becomes fire. 

Lance can’t breathe, can’t see, can barely feel the ground underneath him as he drops. His only saving grace is he doesn’t have the breath to let loose a bloody scream. 

Keith stands over him, arms crossed, staring down impassively. Lance can’t remember seeing or hearing him approach. 

“Seriously?” he snarls, lips curling back with disdain. “I did not hit you that hard.” 

Lance’s face is ashen, his skin clammy with sweat as he leans forward over his knees, cradling his liquified insides. His head feels swollen with heat and throbs in rhythm to the pulsing in his stomach. 

Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re such a baby.” 

Lance throws together a fractured smile, barely daring to breathe lest he scream. 

“Guess you don’t know your own strength.” He forces himself to look up from where he’s still kneeling, dragging a smile onto his face as he looks at Keith. 

He can’t take another hit like that again. He can’t. His legs are already water. One more and he actually will cry and Lance can’t stand that, not after everything. He’d rather they all think him a lazy, arrogant asshole, or literally anything else they want, so long as they don’t see him cry. 

One hand cradled over his stomach he lumbers to his feet, trying not to wince. He doesn’t quite succeed but hopes Keith just thinks he’s being dramatic. 

His other hand is raised in surrender to keep Keith at bay. 

“Think I’m done for the day,” he smiles, taking a shaking step away. Keith puts his hands on his hips, shifting his weight. 

“Seriously? I hit you one time and you’re quitting?” 

Lance shrugs, another blow to his pride stinging. “What can I say? I have a weak constitution,” he jokes. He can feel tears of pain threatening and he has to make his escape before they can manifest. 

Shiro and Allura say something about calling it a day but Lance barely hears them, already making for the door, still cradling his stomach. The doors hiss shut behind him and Lance stumbles into the wall as they do, nearly collapsing and struggles not to cry. His insides are on fire. 


	3. Chapter 3

Lance does a good job hiding it until he doesn’t. He’s running wind sprints in the training room, trying to make up for being all but immobile for an entire week when Keith walks in. Lance doesn’t think anything of it, just bolts from one end of the room to the other until he feels like he’s going to choke on his lungs. That familiar telltale pain in his abdomen he’s become very familiar with warns him he’s pushing himself too hard. 

He drags the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face to keep it out of his eyes, trying to talk himself into taking a break and feeling guilty for needing one. 

“What the hell.” Keith’s voice is choked with horror and Lance realizes what he’s done. 

Yanking the shirt back down he swallows, dry throat clicking. He turns to grab his things, blatantly ignoring Keith as he does. He snatches up his water, guzzling it and tries very hard not to run. 

“Lance, what the hell!” 

Keith grabs him by the arm, spinning him around and yanking Lance’s shirt back up before he can stop him. Keith’s grip on him is the only thing keeping Lance from stumbling. 

“I’m fine.” He tries to shove Keith off but Keith holds on tighter, bending out of the way only to move right back into Lance’s space where he doesn’t want him. 

“You are not  _ fine _ ,” Keith snaps, eyes cold and hard when they meet Lance’s before dropping back to the amalgamation of bruises littering his waist. Keith’s expression goes slack and he drags the shirt higher, bodily turning Lance like some kind of mannequin to see his back. 

He can see the tread marks from someone’s boots imprinted in Lance’s skin, deep flowering bruises of dark purple and red and yellow marring his skin. It circles his waist like a deep, morbidly flowering corset and Keith’s heart gives a painful lurch. He doesn’t know how Lance is standing let alone running wind sprints with these. 

“Who did this?” His voice is little more than a whisper as he gently reaches out to touch one of the boot prints over Lance’s kidney. 

“Nobody.” He tries to wave off Keith’s hands. 

“Was it someone on the ship?” Keith asks darkly, eyes hard as stone chips. His grip tightens protectively and Lance’s eyebrows fly upward. 

“No it wasn’t someone on the ship! Jesus, Keith!” He yanks his shirt back down, having had quite enough of that. 

“Then who!” 

Lance grabs his things, his jaw flexing angrily as Keith shadows him, inordinately angry that  _ now _ Keith cares. None of them had when it was happening. 

“I got cornered, that’s all. I’m fine.” 

Keith stares at him in horror, remembering the dark spot he’d seen right in the middle of Lance’s abdomen and abruptly thinks he’s going to throw up. 

“I hit you,” he breathes, the words leaving him in a whoosh, taking all the breath in his lungs and Keith can’t seem to draw another one. 

“Oh god. In training. I  _ hit _ you.” His legs tremble and his balance shifts. Lance has to grab his arm to keep him upright, struggling under the weight as he engages his core. Keith covers his mouth with one hand, eyes locked on Lance’s torso, looking a little green. 

“Oh god, I-”

“You didn’t know.” 

Keith’s fingers are like iron on Lance’s arm but now it’s to keep himself upright. 

Lance guides him carefully to the bench and he drops heavily onto it, legs seeming to give out from under him. 

“No wonder you dropped like you did,” Keith breathes. “Jesus.” He scrubs his hands over his face, dragging in a shaky breath before his head snaps up. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? How long ago did this happen?”

Lance scoffs, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, like I need one more failure to add my already impressively long list,” he snipes back. “Think I’ll keep how I got cornered and beaten half to hell by one soldier to myself, thanks.” He spits the words with a sneer. 

Keith scrambles to try and place the moment in his mind, tries to remember when Lance’s movements became not quite right, when this could have possibly happened without them knowing. They would have helped him if they’d known, if  _ Keith _ had known. He searches his memory and comes back to the same conclusion every time. 

“When you disappeared…” He looks at Lance’s blue eyes, cold as ice and just as unforgiving. “We couldn’t find you... That was it wasn’t it.”

Lance works his jaw silently, wiping down with the towel he brought, refusing to answer. 

“And instead of helping you I was-” Keith’s breath stutters as he remembers the awful things he’d said in a fit of temper. “I’m sorry. I have to be the worst teammate, the worst friend in the history of forever.” He puts his head in his hands, guilt eating away at him but Lance’s voice cuts into his pity party. 

“Keith. I appreciate the sentiment, really, I do. But right now I don’t have the time or energy to make you feel better, I’m in too much pain.” His voice is blunt and clipped as he throws the towel into the bag. “So can we save the crisis of conscience for later?” 

He snatches up the rest of his things and marches from the room towards the privacy of his own shower, trying to pretend the last five minutes never happened. 

~

To Lance’s surprise, Keith doesn’t tell the others. Instead he watches Lance like a hawk; which, to be fair, may be worse. Like he’s trying to make up for not watching his back before. 

Lance does his best to ignore him. He doesn’t need Keith’s guilty conscience on top of everything else dragging him down. 


	4. Chapter 4

It’s barely a day later and they’re in the middle of some downtime. Instead of spending it with the other paladins Lance opts to stay in his room, stretched out across his bed. He’s trying to will his body to heal faster through sheer force alone. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend today. 

There’s a soft knock at the door and Lance scowls at it. 

“What?”

The door hisses open and Lance scrambles upright, reaching for a shirt as Keith walks in. 

“‘What’ does not mean ‘come in,’” he snaps, aborting his attempt to grab a shirt, instead carefully lowering himself back down to the bed with a wince, one hand over his stomach. Keith has already seen it so what’s the point. 

“What do you want?” he grinds out, slowly stretching across the mattress again. 

Keith sits on the edge of the bed without invitation, pulling a small container out of his pocket. 

“Roll over.”

Lance glares at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Keith waggles the little container. “It’ll help with the bruises. I got it from Coran.”

Lance pales, snatching at Keith’s wrist, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“Did you tell him?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I told him it was for me.” A smile tries to form on his mouth but doesn’t stay very long. 

“I don’t know why you won’t get in a pod-”

“I don’t need one,” he hisses. 

Keith looks pointedly at the bruises. “Yes, you do. And that’s not a weakness. But if you won’t use one the least you can do is let me help.” 

Lance’s face warps angrily as he lays back down. “To assuage your guilty conscience?”

“To let you know you’re not alone,” he says gently. “That I care.

“Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I got my ass handed to me by the gladiator so he didn’t ask any questions. Now roll over.” 

Lance squints at him suspiciously but finally does and Keith knows he must be hurting if Lance doesn’t argue. Pissed as he is, with good reason, he just does it. 

Keith applies the salve as gently as he can, warming it between his fingers before working it into Lance’s skin. It smells like toothpaste but helps ease the pain and Lance has to admit he’s grateful. Normally he’d be able to do it himself but twisting around to reach his back would probably do him more harm than good. 

Keith covers everything he can reach and then nudges Lance’s hip with a knuckle. 

“Switch.” 

Begrudgingly Lance rolls over with a wince and before he can complain Keith continues covering the rest of the bruises with the salve. There’s still a dark flower in the middle of Lance’s abdomen, the perfect size and shape of Keith’s fist and he winces, fingers hovering ghost-light over the dark spot where he’d hit him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“For what part?” Lance’s voice is still angry and Keith wonders if he’ll ever trust him again. 

His fingers touch down, ever so gently, and Lance’s stomach flutters under them. 

“All of it,” he says softly, still fixated on the bruise. It’s taking longer to heal than the rest of them. “For being an idiot, for letting you go alone, for not protecting you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Lance snaps, trying to twist out from under Keith’s hands. 

“I know.” Keith tucks his hands into his lap, giving Lance at least that much. “You proved that when you got out alive.” He looks up at Lance from under his eyebrows. “But you never should have had to. This never should have happened.” He reaches out and touches the bruises again like he can’t help himself, tracing out the edges of them. “This was my fault.  _ Our  _ fault.” He shakes his head, his face doing something complicated. 

“You didn’t fail us Lance. We failed you. And I am so, so sorry.” 

He stands from the bed, depositing the salve and a bundle on the nightstand along with a water pouch Lance didn’t know he was hiding and some pain meds. 

“I don’t know that I’m ever going to be able to make it up to you. But I’m gonna try.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Lance is still avoiding all of them but he’s at least making periodic eye contact with Keith. His gaze never lingers but it’s more than he’s giving any of the others.

He gives Lance as much space as he can but he wants Lance to know he cares.

One day after training Keith opts to shower in one of the lower bathrooms.

He freezes as he walks into the largest of them, wanting some peace and quiet from the other paladins but Lance is already there. He’s soaking in the tub, thick suds swirling on the surface.

They both stare at each other awkwardly until Lance breaks the silence.

“Did you come to use the showers?”

“Uh, yeah.” Keith’s eyes dart around the room, unsure of where to look. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.” He grips the towel hanging around his neck. “I can come back.”

Lance shrugs, making the suds sway. “I mean you can if you want but I may be awhile. I can turn my back if you like.”

Keith glances at the showers as Lance scoots around, turning his back to them. He was really looking forward to a shower after training.

“Alright.”

Lance smiles, lazy and tired, tipping his head back and relaxing into the tub. He listens as the water starts to run, drifting off, letting the heat sink into his sore muscles and the bruises.

When he comes to, mind drifting between sleep and awake, Keith is still there. Lance hauls himself out of the now tepid water as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb him. He reaches for the container of ointment Keith had brought him, beginning to rub it into the bruises. He’s struggling to reach his back when he feels a hand on his wrist.

“Let me.”

Lance flushes, jerking away on reflex. He hadn’t heard Keith come closer over the running water. He bites his lip but passes the salve over his shoulder, trying to give Keith some privacy.

He’s dripping water all over the place, little beads of it scattering and dripping down Lance’s back from his hair. It’s an odd sensation and Lance’s breath hitches. He close enough Lance can feel Keith’s breath on his skin. 

Keith’s fingers are warm where he works the ointment into the bruises, the same as he did before. He’s almost painfully silent, his fingers lingering as he stares at the boot prints weaving across Lance’s spine, his lower back.

Keith’s face pinches and he tips his head forward, resting it against the back of Lance’s neck, one hand on the bruises at his waist. The water in his hair has gone cold, dripping in rivulets down Lance’s back, raising goosebumps.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers.

Lance turns his head vaguely in Keith’s direction, his voice just as soft.

“For what?”

Keith swallows thickly, closing his eyes on a wince. He tips his head, lips brushing over Lance’s spine.

“Everything.” His mouth pulls sideways and he touches the bruises. “You’re very good at pretending, at hiding. And I never bothered to look deeper than that.” He presses his palm flat to Lance’s waist. “I’m sorry.”

Lance shifts awkwardly and Keith lifts his head, staring at Lance’s shoulder, at the water dripping from his hair, at the slice of Lance’s profile he can see.

“Didn’t know you cared,” Lance finally says, their eyes catching briefly before Lance looks away. Keith hates the honesty in Lance’s voice, guilt twisting his stomach.

He winces, grinding his teeth. “I know. That’s my own damn fault,” he says, pulling further away. “I’m not- good at telling people how I feel.” Keith touches the darkest of the bruises over Lance’s kidney before stroking over his spine.

“Especially when I care about them.” His voice comes out a choked whisper. “I’ll try harder.” Keith touches the bruises one last time, committing them to memory so it doesn’t happen again.

“I’m sorry for failing you.” He frowns, letting his hand fall away and stands, heading back to the shower.

“Keith-” Lance turns to face him, one hand on the floor to keep his balance.

Keith stops and looks back at Lance over his shoulder.

Lance stumbles for words. He doesn’t know what to say because Keith is right. He did fail him.

His eyebrows furrow as he searches for something to say that will be true.

“You didn’t know.” It does little to assuage the pained expression on Keith’s face.

Keith purses his lips, looking into the distance, considering Lance’s words before their eyes meet again.

“That doesn’t make it okay. What I did or the things I said when you needed us. It doesn’t make it okay.”

Lance stares at him, at the guilt there that’s eating him alive and Lance wishes he could take it away.

“I forgive you,” he says softly.

“I haven’t earned it.”

Lance almost smiles, eyes softening.

“Yes you have.” He searches Keith’s eyes and something flickers there. “Thank you,” Lance says sincerely. “For caring.”

That at least Keith can agree with.

He nods shallowly. “You’re welcome.”

It doesn’t fix things, it can’t. But it’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I do actually LOVE Lance. I don't know why I'm like this.


End file.
